


Not So Spooky-Scary

by popatochisp



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Cute, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fun, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), M/M, One Shot Collection, Other, Puns & Word Play, Slice of Life, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: A collection of self-insert drabbles for Halloween, cross-posted from tumblr.AUs featured: UT, US, UF, SF, HT





	1. Sans (Undertale)

In typical lazybones fashion, it’s the week before Halloween and Sans hasn’t bought a single thing.

“Are you not doing a costume?” you ask him. “Is it offensive to you, or…?”

He laughs at you, delighted by the question, but he also promises, “nah, it’s nothin’ like that. this whole thing’s _hilarious_, ‘course m’doin’ it.”

“Then…”

“already got everything i need for it. trust me.”

Not for the first or last time, because you never learn, you allow those two little words to lull you into a false sense of security.

Sure enough, Halloween comes and Sans is wearing something that’s _definitely_ not his usual…but you’re not sure how it’s much of a costume, either.

With him before you, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, with a neatly fixed tie and a shiny pair of shoes, you can’t help but notice…

“Is that the suit you wore to Alphys and Undyne’s wedding?”

Without an ounce of shame, he happily confirms, “yep.”

“……Okay, so…what…are you supposed to be? Some kind of…”

Nope, you’re at a loss.

“oh right, thanks for reminding me. it ain’t done yet, hold on.”

Sans reaches over to the pad of post-it notes next to Rocky, the pet-rock—in easy reach for the on-going war of ‘MOVE YOUR SOCK’ just a few feet away—and scribbles something on it with a sharpie.

You frown, even more confused when he peels the note up and slaps it on his chest.

“ta-da,” he says, which doesn’t make sense until you look at the note.

And what’s written on it.

_‘sorry’_

Oh god damn it.

He’s a _formal apology_.

“I hate you,” you say flatly, and Sans’ smile is downright _beatific_.

“i am sincerely sorry,” he assures you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Costume choice is 1000% inspired by [this comic](https://thefloatingstone.tumblr.com/post/152242340984/i-actually-managed-to-finish-it-in-time-d) by thefloatingstone, I had to look it up with google to find it again because I couldn’t remember who’d drawn it, and when I found it I recognized the style immediately– great stuff, great artist, great inspiration, thank you! UwU


	2. Papyrus (Undertale)

You thought Papyrus would be excited by your suggestion of doing a couples’ costume for Halloween this year, but he turns you down flat the moment you bring it up.

“I’M SORRY,” he says, and he really _does_ look it, “BUT I’VE MADE OTHER PLANS!”

“With…someone else?”

That’s…unexpected…and a little hurtful…

Papyrus looks confused at the dismay on your face. “WHAT’S WRONG?” he asks, only to gasp loudly, his eye-sockets widening as he realizes the problem. “OH NO, A TERRIBLE SITCOM-ESQUE MISUNDERSTANDING!”

It’s hard to have hurt feelings in the face of such a comical expression of worry, but even harder when he grabs your hands in his and squeezes them.

“NO, NO, NO, I’LL STILL _DEFINITELY_ BE WITH YOU,” he explains. “IT’S JUST…I ALREADY HAVE A COSTUME PLANNED! AND I’VE PUT TOO MUCH WORK IN IT TO SAVE IT FOR NEXT YEAR…”

Well…that was a perfectly reasonable reason!

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine, I get it!”

For awhile the whole ‘costume’ thing is totally forgotten.

It’s Halloween by the time you remember again, and when you see Papyrus in his costume, you can see _exactly_ why he was so reluctant to abandon it.

Black leather—boots, pants, gloves _and_ riding jacket—suits him well, _surprisingly_ well.

“OHO! I SEE I’VE RENDERED YOU SPEECHLESS!” he preens when he notices how much of your attention he has. “WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

You like it.

You like it _a lot_.

But you let your gaze linger a little, trying to find something specific to compliment—you know Papyrus _loves_ specific compliments!

“It’s great,” you say honestly, “I, uh…I like the spikes!”

The sharp metal poking up across his shoulders and around his wrists really do accentuate the look, glinting in the low afternoon light.

Papyrus’ chest puffs out, making the thick, heavy chain wrapped around his rib-cage gleam, too.

“I KNEW IT,” he says fondly, eye-sockets shiny, “I _KNEW_ YOU WERE SOMEONE WHO APPRECIATED THE CLASSICS! NOW, WATCH THIS!”

You do, indeed, watch as Papyrus’ magic sparks to life, a brilliant dark blue glow flaring up and consuming his skull, flickering like…like…

Flames!

“Oh!” You _get _it now. “You’re Ghost Rider!”

“THE _COOLEST_ OF YOUR SKELETON HEROES,” he proudly agrees. “_ALMOST_ AS COOL AS THE GREAT PAPYRUS, NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

You couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this one was inspired by [this](https://assrtdj.tumblr.com/post/144855049021/hey-sans-have-you-ever-met-ghost-rider) art over here! Gotta go with the costume for Papyrus that incorporates flames and spikes, it’s just more realistic, he loves that shit! XD


	3. Underswap Sans

You don’t have to guess, not for one second, what Sans’ costume is supposed to be.

The breeches, the high boots, waistcoat, the tricorn hat with a colorfully jaunty peacock feather sticking out of it…

“You’re a pirate, huh?”

“AYE,” he confirms with a wink. “JUST A BUCCANEER LOOKING TO GET HIS LAND-LEGS BACK IN ORDER, MAYBE CAROUSE A BIT ALONG THE WAY.”

Your eyes fall to the cutlass at his waist, surprisingly realistic-looking.

(Maybe not _so_ surprising—Sans never did _anything _by halves.)

“Planning on doing any pillaging tonight, Mister Pirate?”

“SINK _ME!”_ he exclaims, as if offended. “I HAVE NO SUCH FOUL INTENTIONS!”

Sans is so committed to the role, you _love_ this.

“So you’re _not_ on the hunt for booty?” you ask dubiously.

He smirks.

“AH, MY DARLING DEAR,” he says with a shake of his skull, tugging you up against his side. “YOU GIVE ME ALL THE _BOOTY_ I CAN HANDLE.”

“Hahahaha, you bastard, are you saying I’ve got a fat ass?!”

“‘BOOTY’ IS ‘TREASURE,’ HUMAN OF MINE—AND YOU _ARE_ THE GREATEST TREASURE OF MY LIFE.”

“Aww, _baby_…”

“YOUR ASS IS ONLY ONE _PART_ OF ALL THE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT YOU!”

“…A little less sweet, that time, but I’ll take it!”

You head out with him, making your way to the Halloween party, but it’s not long before you have to ask.

“So, why a pirate?”

Sans just shrugs. “OH, I DON’T KNOW… SEEMED LIKE FUN?”

“Or,” your postulate, eyes sliding towards him knowingly, “a thinly-veiled excuse to be called ‘Captain’ all night?”

“I HAVE NO _IDEA_ WHAT YOU’RE INSINUATING,” Sans replies.

Which is a load of crap, but…

“Whatever you say, _Captain_.”

Sans couldn’t look any more smug if he _tried_.


	4. Underswap Papyrus

“………Dude.”

“what.”

“We need to go.”

“yeah.”

“Like, _right_ now, we need to leave.”

“yeah, i heard you the first time.”

“So…why are you just standing there?”

“m’waitin’ for you to open the door.”

As this is _not_ the biggest issue you can see, your frustration at Papyrus finally boils over.

“You’re _not_ even in _costume!_” you exclaim. “For a _costume _party!”

Sure enough, Papyrus stands before you in his signature orange hoodie, cargo shorts, and converse—the same outfit he wears with minimal variation, pretty much _all_ the time.

Papyrus blinks at you, as if surprised.

“oh damn, you’re right, look at that. good call, hon, lemme go get my thing.”

He ambles off into the _kitchen_, of all places, and you resist the urge to groan aloud at his ill-timed shenanigans.

You stand there at the door, in your own costume, tapping your foot impatiently…

…and when he comes back, _wearing exactly the same thing_, you just throw your hands up in the universally understood gesture of, ‘What the hell, man?!’

“You said you were gonna be a serial killer,” you remind him. “You do _not_ look like a serial killer—and don’t give me that ‘they look just like everyone else’ crap!”

“a serial killer? ohhh, you must’ve misheard me, i’m not doin’ that.”

“Then—”

“i’m a _cereal_ killer.”

You don’t hear the difference at first.

It’s not until Papyrus holds up a box with a plastic knife embedded in its side that the cogs start turning in your brain.

“…Cereal killer.”

“yep.”

_“Cereal_ killer.”

“mmhmm.”

“…”

“…”

“Okay, you _hate_ puns, how is that not a pun?!”

“oh, it is,” Papyrus easily relents, walking back over to your side. “it’s just a _clever_ one. y’see how that works?”

“………No?!”

“ah, understandable—the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.” He turns slightly when he reaches the door. “you comin’ or what?”

You could say something to your boyfriend.

You could say a _lot_ of things to your boyfriend.

Instead, you just sigh and say, “Yeah, I’m coming…bastard.”

“nyeheheheh…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least 90% of the reason he picked this ‘costume’ was to have something to snack on at the party, dry cereal is his favorite…


	5. Underfell Sans

You wade your way through the party, your search for Sans impeded chiefly the fact that you had _no_ idea what the hell your boyfriend had come here wearing.

_it’s a surprise, baby_, your fucking _foot_, does Sans have _any_ idea how hard it is to find a skeleton at a _Halloween_ party?!

A sharp whistle suddenly cuts across the chatter.

You turn and sure enough, there’s Sans, lounging in an arm-chair and beckoning you over with that smug little smirk of his.

You head over.

Sans makes no secret of checking you out, his red eye-lights obviously looking you up and down.

“ya’ look _good_, doll,” he says, surely in compliment to your costume for the evening and nothing at _all_ untoward.

“So do you,” you reluctantly admit. “Never thought I’d say that about a man in a fedora, and yet…”

Sans’ perpetual grin widens.

You’re not even a little surprised by his choice in costume, now that you see him in it—pinstriped slacks, a crimson dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black suspenders and tie, chunky gold rings adorning his claws to match his glinting fang…

Sans _did_ love his true crime docudramas, _especially_ the ones about gangsters.

“i can make _anything_ look good,” he assures you, bold as brass, and you’d roll your eyes if he wasn’t right.

You glance around the immediate area, looking for a place to sit down, but everything’s taken. You’re half-settled on moving Sans’ discarded suit-jacket from the arm of his chair to sit there when he clucks his nonexistent tongue at you.

“hey, hey, what’re ya’ doin’? saved ya’ a perfectly good seat right here!”

And…he’s patting his lap.

Of course he is.

“You’ve got a pretty big ego there, mister,” you tease, nonetheless sitting down.

Sans’ arm comes around you pretty much immediately.

“ain’t the _only_ big thing i got, sweetheart…”

“Of course, how could I forget?” You lean in, right where the shell of his ear would be, if he had ears, to seductively whisper, “You’ve got a real big _heart_, too.”

“………”

Sans’ claws curl around the back of your skull, smooshing your face down against his collarbone—no _doubt_ trying to keep you from seeing his blush.

“aw, what the _hell,”_ he grumbles at you, “what’d i say about gettin’ sappy on me when m’tryin’ to flirt?!”

“That you _love_ it and to do it at _every_ opportunity.”

His grumbles go incoherent for a second.

“_you_ are _askin’_ for it, y’know that?”

“Aww, I’m just razzing you, big-six… C’mon, it’s a party, you got an edge yet or do we gotta find you a little panther sweat?”

Hey, _you’d_ been right there with him for all those docudramas—hard _not _to pick up a thing or two.

It gets Sans to chuckle, at least.

“alright…alright, _now_ yer speakin’ my language… ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gangster slang translation: 
> 
> Razzing = teasing  
Big six = a strong man  
Edge = a buzz (alcohol)  
Panther sweat = whiskey


	6. Underfell Papyrus

You and Papyrus both go completely still when you accidentally barge in on him in the bathroom.

Luckily <strike>or unluckily, depending on your point of view</strike>, he is fully clothed in, as he often is, a suit.

…Though you don’t think you’ve seen him go to work in _that_ one before, a flashy carmine-red affair, double-breasted and Italian cut—the most flattering to his figure, as he’d always insisted.

You _definitely_ haven’t seen him go _anywhere_ sporting the prosthetic horns he seems to be in the middle of applying to his skull, either.

“…This is the part where you say ‘I can explain,’” you say after another moment of silence, both of you just staring at each other in surprise.

“I…I CAN!” Papyrus exclaims quickly. “I’M! DOING A TEST RUN!”

You eyes lift to the surprisingly realistic horns atop his head, thick and curling, like a ram’s.

“For…what?”

He huffs, like you’re being purposefully obtuse. “WHAT ELSE?! FOR YOUR…SILLY COSTUME HOLIDAY!”

It takes you a second.

“Halloween?”

“YES, THAT!”

But… “That’s _months_ from now. Isn’t it…isn’t it a little _early _to be trying out your…” You look him over and guess, “devil costume?”

Papyrus scoffs loudly.

“THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS ‘TOO EARLY’ WHEN IT COMES TO BEING PREPARED,” he informs you. “I SHOULD KNOW—YOU CAN’T SPELL THE WORD WITHOUT SEVERAL LETTERS FROM MY NAME!”

…You guess you _have_ to give him that.

“Well…it looks good,” you tell him, honestly, because it does! It’s a well-fitting suit and the horns are a surprisingly subtle touch, blending well into the bone of his skull. “Does this mean you’ll be coming to my office party after all?”

“YES, OBVIOUSLY!” Papyrus says, only to pause like something’s occurred to him. “WAIT—WHILE YOU’RE HERE, WE MIGHT AS WELL REHEARSE.”

You frown, confused. “Rehearse…?”

“SHH, JUST—PRETEND YOU’RE ONE OF YOUR TERRIBLE WORK-FRIENDS,” he says, flapping his hand at you dismissively. “ASK ME WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO BE!”

You don’t know where he’s going with this, or what could _possibly_ need rehearsing about attending your significant other’s office party, but…you’re not in the habit of arguing with Papyrus; not when he’s _this_ set on something.

“Okay…” you say slowly. “Uh…so…what’s _your_ costume?”

Papyrus blinks as if he doesn’t even understand the question—his acting talent abruptly on display.

“WHAT COSTUME?” he asks, his poker-face perfect. “I CAME STRAIGHT FROM WORK.”

“Oh…oh, of course!” Your lips quirk a little, because _now_ you think you know what’s coming. “Where do you work?”

He scans himself briefly before fixing you with A Look. “I’M A LAWYER! ISN’T IT OBVIOUS?”

Despite already knowing the punch-line, it cracks you up anyway—you laugh, delighted, and Papyrus’ eye-lights practically _sparkle_.

“PERFECT,” he proclaims proudly. “I AM _SO_ READY! YOUR COWORKERS DON’T STAND A _CHANCE_ AGAINST MY CHARMING WIT!”

You’re inclined to think he’s right: they _don’t_ stand a chance.

_You_ certainly haven’t stood one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone unfamiliar with my headcanons, it’s not just a joke– he actually is a lawyer, and this joke is hilarious to him, he is going to tell it to everyone at the party and happily puff out his chest with every laugh he gets.


	7. Swapfell Sans

Sans always dressed well when going out somewhere with you.

At first, you think he just may have forgotten to dress up for tonight, or elected against it as some sort of…ego thing.

He wears plenty of three-piece suits, so the extravagance of his vest doesn’t immediately strike you as odd. Neither do the gloves encasing his sharp claws (the same pair he always wears), nor the paisley silk cravat he’s wearing in place of his usual scarf, all well within the range of normal for your bonefriend.

…But then you notice the _cape_…and the shiny, novelty cravat pin, in the shape of a _bat_…

“Vampire?” you ask, not at all displeased.

“VAMPIRE,” Sans confirms, not at all ashamed.

“Should I call you Count Serif, then?”

Sans leisurely saunters to your side. “YOU COULD, IF YOU WISH,” he allows. “…BUT YOU COULD ALSO CALL ME _YOURS_…”

Oh, nope.

_Nope_, this smooth son of a bitch was _not_ going to get you so early in the evening, not _this_ time!

You shoot him a sidelong glance, cattily accusing, “Be honest, you just picked that costume so you could wear the cape.”

Sans smirks at you, in that way he has of letting you know he knows _exactly_ what you’re trying to pull with the change of subject and _isn’t _going to be falling for it.

Before you know it, he’s swooping behind you, _unbalancing_ you, carefully dipping you from behind.

He leans in…

“ACTUALLY,” he murmurs, his low voice a puff of warm air along your neck, “IT WAS BECAUSE I ALREADY HAD THE _FANGS _TO GO WITH IT…”

You can feel what he means.

The sharp edges of his teeth—his _fangs_—are ghosting along your throat as he speaks, gliding gently against your skin, _just_ enough for you to feel them…

And then, Sans rights you, drifting back to your side.

“…BUT THE CAPE IS _DEFINITELY_ A PERK,” he says, as if nothing had happened. He holds his arm out for you to take with an offer of, “SHALL WE?”

Only moderately distracted, you do take his arm and (a bit belatedly) agree, “We shall…”

By the mischievous glint in Sans’ eye-lights as he watches you from the corner of his sockets, you just _know_ he has more planned for you later than just that _one _little stunt.

…You’re…in for a long night, aren’t you?

Oh boy…


	8. Swapfell Papyrus

You carefully peer out of the curtains at the distant sound of laughter.

Oh _fantastic_—tweens!

Just old enough to get all cocky, and not so young that it felt mean to give them a good scare…

You hover your finger over the switch, waiting for your cue.

The kids approach, roughhousing and tough-talking each other as they come up the sidewalk and take in your whole set-up.

It’s pretty creepy, if you do say so yourself: subtle hand-painted decorations courtesy of your special someone, a hidden fog-machine, one eerily flickering porch-light…

And right below it, a carefully arranged scarecrow with a bowl of candy in its lap.

Kids are nowhere _near_ as good at whispering as they think they are, and you can hear them talking to each other even from inside.

“‘Take Two’? Yeah, right!”

“So stupid, it’s not even _scary_…”

“Just dump the whole bowl, it’s the good kind, nobody’s looking.”

“What’s the deal with the skeleton scarecrow? That’s not even a thing!”

“C’mon, dude, hurry up!”

You wait for one of them to try to grab at the candy bowl and as soon as they do, you hit the switch—the porch-light turns red, a speaker blasts a clichéd lightning crash, and Papyrus sits up straight, clutching the bowl tighter in his claws.

All he says is, “dude, it says ‘take two,’” but the kids still yelp and halfway scatter before you can come outside, laughing at their startled faces.

Papyrus is laughing, too, that cute little ‘nyeheheh’ of his that you’re so fond of as you come up behind his chair.

“Sorry, kids,” you say to the wary youths on your lawn, realizing they’ve just been pranked. “Just a little Halloween trick there… Come on, come get your candy, you can have _three_ for being good sports!”

Naturally, that smooths over any hurt feelings that may have remained.

When they’re gone, you set a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder.

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” you tell him, gratefully rubbing at the flannel of his shirt. “Probably won’t be long before the scare-factor of having real monsters around for Halloween wears off.”

“yeah…hope so,” Papyrus replies with a smile. “‘sides, this is fun.”

“Really?” That surprises you. “I kinda thought you were just humoring me, this doesn’t really seem like your kinda thing…”

“well…m’not _lovin’ _the burlap…” Papyrus admits, looking down at himself. Making a face, he also scratches at his chest, rustling some of the straw stuffed haphazardly into his rib-cage. “…an’ _this_ is pretty itchy…but yeah, it’s…it’s fun.”

“Scaring children?”

“yeah. …well! no! just! it’s just _fun_, y’know?” he attempts to explain. “nobody… nothin’ serious, nobody’s gettin’ hurt… just a lil scare, an’ then y’get some candy for your trouble. it’s…nice.”

…Aww.

That _is_ nice…

Distant voices start to drift over to you and you both have to get back into position—you straighten Papyrus’ hat, give him a kiss for luck, and scurry back inside as he extinguishes his eye-lights to wait for the next batch of trick-or-treaters.

You hope you’ll get some really good scares out of these ones, too, but more than that…

You hope Papyrus gets to have _lots_ more nice, harmless Halloween fun in the years to come, _just_ like this.


	9. Horrortale Sans

You find the packaging in the trash, about a week out from Halloween.

You’re not snooping, or rooting around in the garbage or anything, but costume packaging is… well, it’s _big_ and _bulky_ and really _obvious_, even if you’re only briefly visiting the trash can to discard an empty bag.

To say you’re shocked by what you see is an understatement.

It’s a _couples’_ costume, which would normally be sweet, that Sans was thinking of you, that he wanted to match with you, except…

Except it’s one of those _lewd_ costumes, like…like the plug and socket, hot dog and bun, the two halves of an oreo!

Now, you’re hardly a _prude_, but those kinds of costumes had always struck you as gross and kind of inappropriate—or maybe you, personally, just didn’t like the idea of advertising what you got up to with your partner in private, and who put _what,_ _where_.

The bottom line is, you’re _not_ wearing that.

You need to go talk to Sans about this.

You find him dozing on the couch, his phone almost slipping from his lax fingers, and nudge him gently ‘til he snorts awake.

His big, red pupil watches you blankly as you start to explain the problem, how you’re…flattered, _really_, that he wants to match with you, but it’s…just not your _style_, this kind of thing, and…and…

“Why are you laughing at me, Sans.”

“eheheheheheheheheh, s-sorry, sorry,” he chuckles, not _sounding_ very sorry. “you’re…ah jeez, that ain’t for _you_…”

You frown.

“Well…who’s it _for,_ then?”

“me? it’s all i need, real low maintenance. …hang on,” he adds when it’s clear you don’t understand, shortcutting elsewhere between one blink and the next.

He’s back just as quickly, with the giant foam key you’d seen on the ‘Sexy Lock & Key’ packaging in the trash hung around his neck.

“y’see?”

…

You do.

“_Skeleton_ key.”

Sans beams, inordinately pleased with himself, and despite yourself, you crack a smile, too.

“…But, wait, if you don’t even need the lock part, why didn’t you throw that out, too?”

Sans shrugs.

“figure if i keep it, i’ll be halfway ready for next year. m’slow, but even _i _can come up with somethin’ if i got a year to think about it.” He pauses. “…y’think i could do somethin’ with ‘_lock_-ness monster’?”

There’s a beat of silence before you laugh, grabbing Sans’ broken skull and pulling him down to kiss him.

Even after everything he’s been through, your Sans is nothing less than a (literally) _giant_ goober.

You love him for that.


	10. Horrortale Papyrus

It’s not often Papyrus likes looking at himself in the mirror.

He used to do it all the time, until…_well_…

Certain _events_.

It’s been better, since the Surface, not as…not as _jarring_ to see his own reflection now that his formerly crooked and splintered teeth have been more or less put to rights, but it’s still…difficult, at times.

Papyrus needs a custom mirror to even _see_ all of himself, for one thing—now that he’s so tall and gangly and…_abnormal_.

Normal’s overrated, true!

He tells himself that often and even _means_ it most days…

But the fact is that he’s a very long and slender skeleton with very _odd_ proportions and that can be…hard to see, since he wasn’t _always_ this way.

That’s _not_ the case today, on this strange human holiday of Halloween.

Papyrus looks at himself in the mirror, really _looks_…

The vertical stripes of his suit are slimming, exaggerating his lankiness even further, but for once, that’s a good thing. He straightens his bat-shaped bow-tie with long, spindly fingers and looks himself over, from head to toe.

_Stars,_ he thinks, _If It Wasn’t For The Glasses…_

He _really_ looks the part.

He looks _right_.

Papyrus can’t help but startle as you crack open the door and call his name.

“You okay, sweetheart?” you ask him gently, coming to stand next to him in front of the mirror. “You were taking a long time to get ready…”

“You’re Sweet To Worry,” he tells you, folding his hand over your shoulder.

You’re sweet, _period_, and Papyrus likes to remind you of that whenever he can.

You like him. You chose him, and you think he looks handsome and good even when he’s _not_ in a costume that suits his weird proportions.

And look at this, right here in the mirror: you even agreed to be the Sally to his Jack tonight, _just _to make him happy.

“I’m Ready,” Papyrus assures you with a smile, straightening his often-bent spine to stand at his full height. “Let’s Go To The Party. It Wouldn’t Do To Be Late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one’s ever pulled off a Jack Skellington costume as well as Papy can, of that I’m 100% certain.
> 
> -
> 
> These drabbles were originally posted on [my tumblr](https://popatochisssp.tumblr.com/), feel free to stop by over there! :3


End file.
